


Death and Wooing Go by Destiny

by Zdenka



Category: Nibelungenlied
Genre: Dramatic Irony, Fatalism, Loyalty, M/M, Violent (Implied) Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: The calm before the storm: Hagen and Volker spend the night together at Pöchlarn, after the betrothal of Giselher to Rüdiger's daughter.
Relationships: Hagen of Tronje/Volker von Alzey
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Death and Wooing Go by Destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



The feast was drawing to an end; Rüdiger’s daughter had retired to her chamber, with a shy farewell to her betrothed. Gunther and his brother princes had taken a courteous leave of Rüdiger and his wife, and all the knights were free to seek the chambers which their host had provided for them.

Hagen, making his way out of the hall, paused beside Volker’s chair. “Will anyone believe our fearsome reputation, friend Volker, when we go about arranging marriages? It seems we can take credit for a betrothal tonight.”

Volker raised his cup in salute. “I meant only a courtly compliment, and this result was unexpected. Yet it turned out well!”

Hagen shrugged. “Margrave Rüdiger has a noble heart; I am pleased to see my lord Giselher betrothed to his daughter. But I think it will not matter in the end.”

“Better matched to young lord Giselher than to you, at least. Did you see how the poor girl was terrified to kiss you in greeting?”

“You need not trouble yourself with matchmaking for me,” Hagen said sardonically. “If I wish for a lover, I will find one myself.” He leaned on Volker’s shoulder and bent closer to say in his ear, “Though I am pleased that Rüdiger and his lady took no offense. I would not willingly do Rüdiger any harm.”

Volker leaned close in turn to answer Hagen, grasping his arm lightly as a good comrade might do. “If lady Gotelind feels we handled the matter abruptly, I’ll compose a song in her honor before I leave here. It will be an exchange of courtesies to smooth things over.”

Hagen nodded, gripped his shoulder once and made his way out of the hall, stopping a few times to speak a word to some of his men.

Volker did not need words to understand Hagen’s meaning. He stayed long enough to finish one cup of wine and made his own way to Hagen’s guest-chamber. He knocked lightly before entering and called out a greeting. Volker knew better than to enter Hagen’s room without warning, even when he was sure of his welcome, if he didn’t want a sword at his throat.

Hagen barely waited for the door to close behind him before pushing him against a wall and kissing him fiercely. Volker seized Hagen in his arms to pull him closer and returned the kiss with equal force. Save for music and battle, this was better than anything: to have Hagen’s strong body pressing against him, Hagen’s hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, while his own fingers dug into the hard muscles of Hagen’s back.

But after a time, Volker pushed Hagen back to say breathlessly, “My friend, let us enjoy the good bed that Rüdiger has given us. This wall is not so soft that I wish to stay here.”

Hagen looked at him with a glint in his eye. His gaze traveled down to the skin exposed by the loosened laces at the neck of Volker’s tunic. But he stepped back and began undoing his own belt. “As you say, friend Volker,” he said with a hint of irony, “let us enjoy Rüdiger’s good hospitality. After this we shall sleep with sword in hand. For I think we will not have so fair a welcome from gentle Kriemhild.”

“If she means to do us evil,” Volker retorted, “she will not go unharmed herself. I will play them such a tune that their heads will ring with it!”

“It will be as it will,” Hagen said, sitting on the bed to pull off his boots.

By that time, Volker had finished undressing; he took a pleasant revenge for earlier by catching Hagen off-balance and pinning him on the bed, before Hagen hooked his leg under Volker’s knee and caught him again in turn.

Hagen was as fierce in love as he was in everything else, leaving the marks of nails and teeth along his skin. Volker rejoiced in all of it, feeling his blood sing and his heart beat faster. He staked his own claim with his hands and mouth over Hagen’s scarred body, pulled sharply on Hagen’s grey-flecked hair to hear him hiss. There was not so much difference, for them, between love and battle. Or perhaps it was a kind of music too, Volker thought idly, pressing his fingertips down over Hagen’s ribs as he would the neck of his fiddle.

Afterwards they slept securely, each knowing that a good companion guarded his side; for a warrior takes rest and pleasure when he can.

A few days later they rode out of Pöchlarn, with the welcome addition of Rüdiger’s company. The sight pleased Volker well: the kings and knights resplendent in their armor and fine shields, their banners flying above them. Perhaps there would be no returning, perhaps they were all death-doomed, as Hagen thought; but where Hagen went, whether to a feast or to battle, Volker the Minstrel would go with him.


End file.
